by Anil Chawla
After this fiasco, Sri told himself, ‘It’s better to leave your manipulative boss before you start to like being manipulated and to enjoy the fruits of such manipulations.’
Sri was firm on his decision and contacted the personnel department with a request to process his resignation. When his family back home learnt about his decision, they asked him to come back to Vijayawada, but Sri didn’t want to do that. He lived on his own for the next couple of months and spent time in introspection about what it was he liked the most to do. The more he thought about it, the more he felt that he was not meant to be in the corporate world. It was teaching that he found to be closest to his heart. His father, a teacher himself, had once told him, ‘Do what you are passionate about. Then you will never think of it as work, but as fun. And thenceforward you will always be on a 24-hour fun trip—and get paid for it!’
The old man also encouraged everybody to have hobbies and interests outside their core profession. ‘Diverse interests help to widen your horizons,’ he believed.
Having sealed the decision to move to academics, Sri systematically went about scouting for opportunities at various colleges and universities. After a couple of short, ad-hoc stints at smaller colleges, he finally landed the position of an assistant professor at LEC Trichy. Soon he realized that this was what he wanted to do. Over the next few years, through his hard and smart work, dedication, sincerity, and innovative teaching methods, he became a darling of students. He earned their love and respect for his focus on helping them learn concepts and apply them in real life. Many of his colleagues made class attendance compulsory and contributory to overall marks and grades, but his class was open. Any student could choose to bunk Sri’s class with no impact on their assessment. And yet, he found his class attendance to be higher than its strength. A quick glance would reveal students who were not required to take his class attending his lectures just to learn from him. And he never objected to it as long as they came on time and maintained class decorum. His name and fame reached new entrants through seniors. While some of his colleagues were envious of him, everyone agreed on one thing: he was blessed by Saraswati, goddess of knowledge and learning.
Anecdotes about his teaching prowess became legend. One story went that Sri, not realizing it was a Sunday, went to class only to find a carpenter repairing some broken furniture. Suddenly, the carpenter screamed—he had missed the nail and accidentally hit his thumb with the hammer. Sri immediately summoned medical help for the carpenter, and then delivered a mini lecture on the probability of a carpenter hitting his thumb instead of the nail. It turned out to be quite high. The simplicity with which Sri explained the probability, even to the illiterate carpenter, was talked about for years.
As the last student boarded the bus, one of them announced, ‘Boarding complete. Close all doors and let us get a move on.’
They started their journey. The bus moved speedily on a beautiful road. Soon they were out of city limits and in the countryside. As Sri looked out of his window, he felt like it wasn’t the bus moving forward but the surroundings moving backwards. His mind, too, went back in time.
Although LECs were largely governed by governmental rules, including those for promotions, Sri had moved up the ladder quite fast. He became an associate professor within five years of joining. By that time, he had already decided to pursue advanced research. Going abroad for a Ph.D. was a good option, but he decided to stay in India. He enrolled at Andhra University. Over the next four years, life was hectic but he completed his Ph.D. without compromising his teaching commitments. His thesis and viva earned him much appreciation from committee members, both internal and external. He was one of the youngest at LEC to become a professor.
Sri was a voracious reader and read anything and everything that came his way. His first love was for hard sciences, but he also read fiction, philosophy, sociology, history, religion, and anything that attracted his interest. A couple of years after he became a professor, Sri was made Dean of the college. After some initial struggles, Sri realized that to be successful as a dean, he needed to expand his skills and learn about management and administration. True to his habit, he went deep into both subjects, reading the latest books and articles, learning from situations and people around him, and applying what he learned in his own life. To his amusement, someone had described so much of management as common sense, more experiential than theoretical. At one point of time, he even considered taking a management course to earn the ‘stamp’ of a management professional, but later decided against it.
His management learning taught him that the most important aspect of getting things done is the manner of handling all the different stakeholders involved. Action learning also interested him. He would often spend long hours thinking about activities to encourage teamwork and develop students’ interpersonal skills. The OFT was one of the ideas that emerged from this, and now they were on the way to Munnar.
Sri looked through the window again but the strong breeze forced him to close his eyes and blew his salt-and-pepper hair over his face. He turned to the inside of the bus and looked around—his students were really having fun, some singing and dancing, some playing antakshari, some pretending to read, some busy eating, and some watching the passing scenery. He tried to make sense out of their conversations, but failed. Too many of them were talking at the same time. He closed his eyes, which helped him retrieve his essential solitude.
In 2000, Sri got his first Ph.D. student, Sudhakar Reddy. Sudhakar had done his B.Tech and M.Tech at Osmania University. He was not brilliant, but was straightforward, hard-working, methodical, and studious. Coming from a middle-class family, he believed that if you could not become a doctor, you should at least get a doctorate. Having a Ph.D. student added to the variety of things Sri was doing. He tried hard to be a good mentor to Sudhakar. By this time, Sri had started enjoying guiding people through normal and difficult times and helping them be successful in their own eyes.
In time, five more students, including Meenakshi, enrolled under him for their doctoral degrees. Meenakshi came from an affluent Marathi family and had been educated in Mumbai, but had travelled extensively around the world. She was a tall, slim girl with an indescribable charm about her. She exuded confidence in whatever she did, had an open mind and an easy-going demeanour.
As months passed, his six research students became good friends, though occasional incidents of academic rivalry did surface. Sri always encouraged them to treat life as a ‘positive sum game’ and enjoy the success of others. The other five students had better academic records than Sudhakar but he made up for this through hard work, single-mindedness of purpose, and focus on his goals. He had already published two papers when the second student joined. Now, with six students at varying stages of their doctoral research, six topics—not entirely unrelated, but still distinct from each other—demanded Sri’s attention. This forced him to ration his time amongst the students. He spent longer hours in his office and laboratory. While Sudhakar was a veritable research addict and often spent as many as fifteen hours in the lab, the other four boys worked normal hours except during crunch times.
Meenakshi was a night owl and often reached the lab only after eleven—sometimes as late as lunchtime—and then worked late into the night. When Sri asked her to be more punctual, he was taken aback to hear her reply bluntly, ‘I can’t get up early in the morning, and prefer working later in the day. In any case, I work in the evening and go home only when I’ve done a good day’s work. I’m mature enough to understand and discharge my responsibility. Anyway, this isn’t a class in school, it’s a Ph.D. programme.’
Sri tried to conceal his shock and said, ‘There has to be a certain discipline among students, including those who are working with me.’ But he knew his argument was not strong enough, more so because Meenakshi was making good progress in her experiments and research. In fact, she was ahead of some of the others.
From that day onwards, Sri noticed that Meenakshi became eve
n more irregular in her timings. She started coming even later, sometimes after lunch. All attempts to counsel her fell on deaf ears. He tried to explain to her that in these early stages, her work needed regular monitoring and review. If she came in so late and left late as well, Sri would have to be in office the entire day, as Sudhakar came in very early and needed a lot of guidance. She casually responded that he needn’t stay back late, he could keep timings that suited him and review her work the next day. All arguments Sri put forward went in vain. Meenakshi kept to her erratic schedule.
One day, when Sri decided to leave at around six in the evening, she gave him a strange look, as if asking, ‘Are you sure you want to leave?’
Sri wished her a good night and left. At home, he showered and sat down in his favourite rocking chair to relax. Like every evening, Ramu brought him a cup of filter coffee. Sri disliked the word ‘servant’ and preferred to think of Ramu as a companion. Ramu had been with the Nagaraju family since Sri was a boy. A few years ago, his family had disowned him. Since he had nowhere else to go, Sri’s father had convinced him to live with Sri.
Rocking the chair, Sri took a sip of the coffee. He loved the aroma and inhaled it deeply. His nostrils full of the scent, he took another sip. Ramu asked him if he wanted to eat something. Sri was feeling hungry and said yes. Ramu vanished into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a plate of upma. Sri took a spoonful and asked Ramu if there was more coffee. Ramu brought some and Sri enjoyed the combination. It was only eight o’clock and there seemed to be so much time, so little to do, and so much emptiness. He felt hollow. Normally, he returned from work well past nine and barely had enough time to shower, eat and spend a few minutes in front of the TV catching up on news and sports. Today, he had done all that, and still had much of the night left.
He wondered if he had left office early just to show Meenakshi his firmness on the punctuality issue. He realized with surprise that he was missing being in office. As he probed his mind further, he found he was actually missing her. On a routine day, while he worked in his office, he heard a variety of sounds from the nearby lab where she worked. It dawned on him that he had got accustomed to her presence in the office in the evenings, and actually stayed on as long as she was there. He told himself, ‘Are you mad? She’s just another kid.’
A voice in his head protested, ‘Don’t kid yourself, Sri. She is vivacious and intelligent, and you like her.’
Sri felt weak. He tried to think of something else but the argument with his other self kept coming back to him. He was jolted awake by Ramu who was shaking him vigorously and asking, ‘What is not true?’
Apparently, he had fallen asleep on the rocking chair, murmuring, ‘This is not true. How can it be?’
Sri did not answer and changed the topic, asking Ramu to lay out dinner. He ate, went out for a stroll and then went to bed.
He slept badly that night, which was rare. Sri consistently followed a regime of yoga and went for a morning walk without fail. He was a teetotaller and never smoked. He ate in moderation and maintained healthy habits. He worked hard during the day and when he went to bed, he slept quickly and soundly for nearly seven hours. And he felt very fresh in the mornings.
Today was different. While shaving, he noticed faint dark circles around his slightly reddened eyes. He reached the institute as usual and discovered that, for the first time in the last dozen years, he had forgotten his 9:00 a.m. class and was late. He hurried to the classroom, which was full. He apologized for the delay and was about to start when one of the students politely asked if he was all right. He nodded in the affirmative and went on to complete the lecture. It became clear that something was amiss when, after class, the same student followed him out and repeated the question. During the previous lecture, Sri had said he’d start the next one with a quiz, had he forgotten about it? Sri realized that he had.
He had many questions for himself, none very clear. This had not happened to him before. Walking towards his office in the faculty wing, he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice people greeting him. When he reached his office, he heard familiar sounds from the adjoining lab. All but one of his students were at their workstations and busy. He could not ignore the fragrance in the lab. He saw Meenakshi leaning on her desk and reading a paper. He took a deep breath and went into his cabin. It was not the first time he’d smelled that perfume in the lab. The other students often joked that Meenakshi’s arrival was always preceded by the scent of her signature perfume. When they told her this one day, she had blushed but hadn’t been offended. Occasional leg-pulling and nicknames aside, Sri’s students maintained a healthy working atmosphere. In the initial days, when the others flatteringly told Meenakshi that they could tell precisely how far she was from the lab just from how strong the fragrance was, she had looked sheepish. As the jibe became hackneyed, she did not even notice such comments. Gradually, her fragrance became a part of the lab.
Sri’s thoughts went back in time. Someone else he knew wore the same perfume, Intimate. His heart skipped a beat.
Sri was surprised to see Meenakshi in the lab two hours before her earliest arrival time. An hour later, she came into his room and sought some time to discuss the paper she’d been studying. He raised his head.
‘Sir, what’s happened to you? Are you all right?’
Having heard this question many times since that morning, he was a bit irritated, but ignored the feeling and said, ‘I’m surprised to see you in the lab so early.’
‘I thought about our conversation and felt I should try to keep to more predictable timings. But sir, you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?’
’Yes, yes. I am fine,’ he replied a little brusquely. ‘Just a little less sleep last night. Should be okay by tomorrow.’
‘But you went home early yesterday,’ she persisted, and then walked to his chair and casually put her hand on his forehead. ‘There is no fever, sir, but you must take a little rest.’
He hardly heard her. Her touch had numbed him and his mind had stopped working. Even his heart seemed to be racing.
Intimate. That scent once again brought back haunting hints of past memories.
He closed his eyes for few seconds to regain his composure and then asked in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘What did you want to discuss?’
Their conversation lasted about fifteen minutes, after which she left. The day went normally thereafter with intermittent discussions with all the students. By six in the evening, everybody had left, including Meenakshi. Sri stayed back and tried to concentrate on his work. Memories kept distracting his mind but he brushed them aside. He left office at nine o’clock and started walking towards his house. He heard voices and spotted two students stepping out of the cafeteria. It was Meenakshi and one of his other students, walking leisurely towards him.
‘You didn’t go home?’ Both parties spoke almost at the same time.
‘I had to finish a few things. Why?’
‘Actually, sir, Meenakshi was telling me you didn’t get enough sleep yesterday. So I thought you’d have left early. And none of us is working late tonight.’
For some odd reason, Sri resented Meenakshi sharing their conversation with another student. ‘Stay focused on your work.’ The words had come out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He regretted it immediately.
The students were left wondering what he meant. But they wished him goodnight and walked away.
The next day, Sri reached office as usual and a few minutes later Meenakshi also showed up. A couple of students joked that she must be in a different time zone to be turning up so early. She ignored them and got to work.
When everybody was leaving in the evening, Meenakshi was still glued to her computer and told them to carry on. There were only the two of them left in the lab. An hour later, Meenakshi asked Sri if he’d like to have a cup of filter coffee. He was surprised, but said yes. There was a small coffee filter and a stove in the lab. She prepared tw
o cups and offered him one. The blended fragrance of Intimate and coffee beans was incredible—or perhaps only Sri felt that way.
It was few days later that Sri could not go to class. He sent a message saying he was not well and requested a colleague to take over his sessions. He also called the lab and informed his students. He was running a fever and shivering despite the many blankets he’d covered himself with. Ramu called the doctor who prescribed a few tests but indicated that it could be a viral infection. Around lunchtime, the doorbell rang and Ramu opened the door to find Meenakshi and two other students at the entrance.
‘How is Sri sir?’
‘His fever is still high,’ said Ramu anxiously.
They went inside and spent some time with Sri.
It so happened that the next day, Ramu also started showing symptoms of the same illness.
For the next few days, Meenakshi came over in the morning to help Sri and Ramu. She made coffee and breakfast for all three and then went back to the lab. She came in again at half past noon, prepared a light lunch, ate with them, and left for the lab. Sri tried to get up a few times, but she wouldn’t have any of it.
It took three days of total rest before Sri could resume work. On an evening soon after, Meenakshi brought in a cup of filter coffee, sat down in front of him and asked blandly, ‘Sri sir, why have you not married?’
Sri was taken aback at the suddenness of the question but smiled and replied, ‘I have not been able find a suitable life-partner so far.’
‘Your parents didn’t insist you get married?’ she asked curiously.
‘Even they could not find a suitable girl for me,’ he said jokingly.
She asked, in her outspoken way, what he was looking for in a life partner.
Sri paused before blurting out, ‘Somebody like you.’
In the unbroken silence that followed, she left the room.
Meenakshi did not come to the lab for the next few days. Her fellow students informed Sri that she was unwell and had taken a couple of days off.
